“What a thing to say, Misao!”
“How scary!”
Between the two trembling girls, Katsuragi roared with laughter.
“I’m lighting the lanterns,” Misao announced as he entered the bedroom.
The beds were sectioned off by screens, but these were mostly for decoration and the piles of cushions were easily seen through the large gaps in the wood.
Patrolling the rooms after the Hour of the Rat was routine and the customers paid it no mind. Misao, working as a servant, turned a blind eye to the things he saw.
On the thick beds, he saw men’s backs, bare white legs wrapped around their waists dangling red underwear, the movement of their muscles showing their vigor. The moment Misao overlaid the image of two other people on those shapes, he was so revolted with himself that he felt nauseous. He covered his mouth with his hand, which stank of lamp oil, and ran out of the room. Masaomi had offered him crumbs of affection on the other side of this railing, but he wasn’t careless enough to say so.
Mold had overgrown his damp heart, making it difficult to breathe, but still he couldn’t leave his work unfinished. Misao went to all of the rooms he was responsible for, lighting the lanterns. When he left the last one, he glanced up at the night sky. It was perfectly clear, shining with starlight. It showed no trace of the violent storm of the night before.
He walked down a hallway. He heard the wooden clappers sounding the time, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him.
He approached the central garden through a gap in the hall.
His hope and disappointment were all mixed up and his heart beat chaotically.
He let his eyes sink down.
Misao surrendered his body to the breeze that blew through the garden and slowly lifted his head.
Desperately, he looked up at the railing.
The person he sought was not there.
When it was nearly time to open shop that afternoon, Misao sat formally, gazing emptily at the pale shadows cast on the floor by the setting sun. At Misao’s knees lay Katsuragi, his head propped on one hand. He wore a luscious kimono about his naked shoulders, a thing Katsuragi had readied for himself. There was also an entire outfit of fine kimono fit for a courtesan, including high-quality lacquered combs and other hair ornaments. Katsuragi had brought these various expensive engagement gifts today not for his favorite, Seno’o, but for Misao.
When Katsuragi had arrived unusually early that afternoon, Seno’o had at first greeted him effervescently, but confronted by this cruel joke, she had wailed and gnashed her teeth, then shut herself in a back room and refused to come out.
“I don’t understand why you want to spend your fortune on stupid games like this,” Misao grumbled unhappily. Katsuragi snorted and picked up the pipe he’d tucked behind his ear. He pointed snippily at Misao’s head with the bowl of the pipe.
“Hey, isn’t that hairstyle supposed to be a little rounder on the sides? And a little wider too, like a butterfly wing.”
The young hairdresser who was brushing Misao’s hair with perfumed combs seemed to be considering Katsuragi’s suggestion. He mumbled “like a butterfly’s wings?” to himself, and reflected for a moment before making a sound of comprehension.
“You mean like the one Ukigumo had?”
“Now now, it’s a little early for that.”
Katsuragi tapped his pipe happily against the floor. Misao stared down at him in annoyance.
“Now I understand.”
He flung his explosive anger at Katsuragi quietly.
“You just want to beat me down, don’t you?”
“Watch your tongue. You should be a little more polite to me,” Katsuragi said lazily.
Misao’s face strained with his sorrow.
“You’re not going to let me complain, and still force me to dress up like a girl? Who do you think would submit to that kind of treatment and still be polite to you?”
Misao railed at him, but Katsuragi only smirked.
“It’s not my fault the boss had his head turned and jumped on board. He’s a pervert.”
The hairdresser cleared his throat loudly at Katsuragi’s insult of the tea house’s owner.
Katsuragi took his wallet out of his sleeve and tossed fifty yen onto the floor. It landed right beside the hairdresser. It was hush money. What a horrible way to use his money.
“I can’t believe you.”
Katsuragi went on, looking utterly innocent. “You’re the one who decided to dress as a woman anyway, right? You’re very good at using makeup, by the way.”
“It’s not at all the same thing,” Misao said reproachfully.
He had never felt ashamed to dance women’s roles. The fan became an extension of his arm, and he’d worn his fingers to blisters polishing his art. He had even grown his hair out so he could have a natural hair style. He had done everything for the art. Not for this crass charade.
“Oh, and about your...”
Katsuragi held up his thumb, an incorrigible look on his face.
“I hear he comes every single day. Any man who comes to a brothel must be real voracious. It must be a lot more tempting than the girls on the street, huh?”
What a creep.
This entire thing had been a game of Katsuragi’s. This realization outraged Misao.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, trying to expel the frustration, he slowly released the breath. He opened his eyes, expressionless. He fixed his eyes on a distant point and pretended he was speaking to someone besides Katsuragi.
Katsuragi snorted and lazily pushed himself up. He packed tobacco into his pipe, then pushed the bowl close to a flame to light it.
He puffed on the pipe with curling lips.
“How can someone who’s seduced oneor is it two, or three, or four guys?be getting so weak-kneed now?”
The purple smoke billowed up with his caustic comment.
Misao blinked once and was silent.
Even if he argued badly, it would only put him at a disadvantage.
When Misao thought Katsuragi was talking about something completely beside the point, Katsuragi would land a critical hit with his next blow and then calmly tell him he had only been joking. And before he knew it, Misao would take a heavy hit. That was all Katsuragi knew of human nature, probably. How impossible.
“All done,” the hairdresser announced, wiping his hands on a rag.
Misao realized that his head felt much heavier. Dangling silver ornaments caught the light at either corner of his vision. It strained his eyes terribly.
“Thank you,” Katsuragi said, sliding his payment to him. The hairdresser picked it up along with the hush money and slipped it all into his sleeve with practiced ease. He smiled at Katsuragi and bowed.